Result: a wrist smiles weakly, unable to lift.
Result: a tooth grays, a lost tongue, a lisp.

“I did not think my posing for him
would reveal anything not already known.
After all, we are passionate lovers

Later, we will notice a vast communication
between separate selves. We will learn
in the colors of our lover’s body

I know the Summer-stained streets must fill, twice—
With Milk, with Flood—of Moon—and Blight.

A world already named, already deposed
in the urge of his stressed
consonants, vowels slack:

They gave me a choice I didn't want: the fate
of a twenty-three-year-old man named
   Frank Spencer Robertson,

I forgot to tell you my husband
died. He was in Spain and something
strange happened with alcohol or water. He loved them

I am doubting the existence of Schubert. 
Pressed, I used to admit this much:
Schubert was there,

Do you mock me, Musil?
I have not reach you, yet
—nor you me. Across the bedroom, we have whiled

Even I can see the flowers are up. I take
like wild vine to my bed. And may I have
a word with the miser measuring out my joys.